


A Scandal in Coradine

by quietprofanity



Category: Dracula - Bram Stoker, League of Extraordinary Gentlemen, Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms, Sherlock Holmes - Arthur Conan Doyle
Genre: Community: kink_bingo, Crossdressing, F/F, Strap-Ons
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-29
Updated: 2012-05-29
Packaged: 2017-11-06 05:18:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,156
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/415127
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/quietprofanity/pseuds/quietprofanity
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The first woman Mina slept with wasn’t Orlando. In the wake of the Martian War, in the secluded colony of Coradine, Mina meets the legendary Irene Adler. Written for kink_bingo. Prompt: “Pegging/strap-ons”</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A Scandal in Coradine

**Author's Note:**

> My end notes grew too long, so check the next chapter if you're interested.

When Mina Murray first came to the women’s colony of Coradine, she had been eager to hear the sound of ladies’ voices again. Within the first week of staying there, she realized she couldn’t relate to anything they had to say.

It had been a disappointment to her. Though she had climbed through rarely-traversed mountains to the coastal village, gone far away from England and everything she knew, her soul had expected to come home, to be coming back to a life of music lessons, tea and long walks along the coast.

Coradine, however, was not Whitby, and the women of Coradine were not the women of England. While Coradine was part of a loose network of many savage, pastoral colonies, and its members would often travel to those colonies to learn their ways in adolescence and receive strangers with open arms in return, the women of Coradine had mostly known each other and only each other all their lives. When they spoke, they spoke as a family, with a history and a past and a culture completely foreign to her, and her dreams of a sisterhood ended in her struggling to keep up with their ways.

It wasn’t a complete loss. From her girlhood reading about Allan Quatermain (oh Allan!) by the candlelight to those harrowing nights in the Carpathian Mountains with Dr. Van Helsing, the heart of an explorer beat in her chest. If she could not find balm for her sorrow over the events of the Martian War, she could bury her mind in the trials of learning about a new place.

First and foremost, Coradine was a matriarchy. It was run by a middle-aged woman referred to as Mother Wintersisle, and through discussions it became clear that in regards to the youngest women of the colony, the name was more than a title. Men occasionally came to Coradine, but only as visitors or as brief “companions” of Mother Wintersisle. The women of Coradine were chaste, and men who tried to break this rule were meted harsh and unforgiving punishments.

“Do you mean to say you all live without love?” Mina had asked Sister Daisy, a girl of eighteen.

“Certainly not!” Sister Daisy said, her delicate features twisted into an expression of horror. “We are all sisters, here. Our hearts are always open to one another.”

“No, I mean … surely you must sometimes wish for a special companion. Someone who loves you and you alone,” Mina pressed, feeling a twinge in her chest as she thought of Allan.

“Someone who loves me only? How could I love someone who had closed their heart to others? Are women so capricious and cruel where you are from? Are men?”

Mina had tried to further explain the concept of romantic love, but it was clear the women of Coradine had no part in it. Even Sister Wintersisle seemed immune to the charms of love, and when Mina had tried to ask her about sex Sister Wintersisle seemed to have the same attitude to it as defecating – something necessary yet fundamentally unpleasant.

For the women of Coradine, pleasures were to be found in the outside world. Even their central household was made of green glass, so that nature could be seen at all times. It was not the most beautiful land. The ground was stony and bore few plants. The women ate fish from the sea or honey from the hives they kept and drank milk from the goats they husbanded. They worked all day, either through fishing, tending the animals, making honey or teaching and caring for the little girls. At night, they listened to Sister Wintersisle read from a book of their history or sang in this unique and utterly strange fashion that involved no words but a kind of vibrating of the throat in perfect harmony. The only time this routine varied was the full moon, when the women of Coradine would dress in shiny, gossamer garments and dance on the smooth, white stone floors of the house’s main room in tribute to the moon’s changing ways. The sisters had invited her to dance, but Mina could not. She just watched in awe as the women glided back and forth across the floor. The beauty of it all made Mina want to leap for joy, and yet it also made her feel more sad and empty, reminded her that she would never dance in tandem with them, reminded her that she had left the man who loved her and that she was fundamentally alone.

When the dance ended, Mina went to the room she had been staying with a feeling of heavy dread. She felt no more at ease with her life or her future than when she had come to Coradine, and the thought of facing a London battered by the Martians and strewn with those dead from the hybrid virus she had delivered still seemed too much for her. Yet she was lonely enough to be heartbroken, and she had made up her mind to leave Coradine until Sister Wintersisle visited her in the morning.

“I know you suffer as a stranger in our house, Sister Mina,” she said. “This morning another stranger has arrived. Perhaps she may act as a friend to you.”

Mina followed Sister Wintersisle from the house to the entrance colonnade of green glass pillars. On balmy days, when the wind from the sea did not blow too bitterly, the women enjoyed meals of seaweed, honey and cheese there, and today the sisters’ beautiful, cheerful voices filled the air, delighted by the coming of another visitor.

Mina spotted her immediately. She wore a dark red traveling two-piece dress – a large skirt beneath a jacket that was tight about her slim waist but puffy in the shoulders and sleeves until it tapered down by her wrists. Atop her braided bun of blonde hair she wore a flat-topped red hat with a black band, and in the band she wore a white lily.

“Sister Irene,” Sister Wintersisle called. “Come meet Mina.”

The woman raised her head, giving Mina a glimpse of her face – pale brown eyes, full pink lips, and a long nose, perhaps too long for her face yet not enough to make her anything less than beautiful. She walked to Mina with her head held high, and grasped Mina’s hand between the two of hers in greeting.

“Mina Murray,” Irene said, shaking her hand. “Wonderful to meet you.”

The first shock of the meeting was Irene’s voice. They were in an unchartered part of northern Scotland, and Mina had never expected to meet an American. The next shock came when Irene leaned in and kissed her on the lips.

Mina froze under the kiss, temporarily terrified as she felt Irene’s tongue enter her mouth. Her first instinct was to push Irene away, offended and embarrassed, but she could feel the eyes of the women of Coradine upon her, and she feared that they would take more offense to an outburst of anger than a rejection of affection. Irene broke the kiss, then hugged Mina and whispered in her ear.

“The woman who killed Professor Moriarty,” she purred.

Mina’s heart skipped a beat as the woman broke the embrace. “You’re … you’re Irene Adler. No, I’m sorry. Mrs. Norton.”

Irene shook her head sadly. “No … It’s Adler again now. Just like how you are no longer Mrs. Harker.”

“Oh … I … I’m sorry,” Mina said. “I don’t know what happened but I can imagine from my own experience it must have been difficult. It’s an honor to meet you. Did Sister Wintersisle tell you my surname?”

“No,” Irene smiled, grabbed the edge of Mina’s red scarf and waved it. “You did.”

Sister Wintersisle asked some questions about whether or not they knew each other, and they tried to explain to her the convention of the differing names to no avail, but it mattered little to Mina at that moment. Mina held Irene’s hand as they walked to the table for breakfast, thoughts of leaving far from her mind.

~*~*~

“I hope I didn’t embarrass you back at the house, Mina. I can call you Mina, can’t I?”

Mina looked up from her work as Irene asked the question. Irene sat on a large boulder near the cliff’s edge, her hat in her hand and the strands that had fallen loose from her hair bun blowing around her face in the breeze from the sea. The two of them had been assigned to watch some of the goats as they grazed at a lower part of the mountain, and Mina had taken the opportunity to dig up some garlic bulbs she had seen.

“Well … I should say it surprised me,” Mina smiled and made another stab with the spade at a particularly hard piece of dirt. “Although I should say it distracted me from your accent.”

“Oh? Would you prefer I spoke in the Queen’s English?” Irene asked, her voice suddenly a perfect imitation of a posh Londoner.

Mina laughed in surprise.

“Or do ye prefer to talk to one of them sailors?” Irene asked, sounding exactly like a Liverpuldian dockworker.

“My,” Mina breathed through her giggling. “That’s a truly impressive talent. Although if half of what Dr. Watson is true I’m sure you have many.”

Irene smiled, although something about the grin seemed a trifle stiff to Mina. Irene rested a hand on her chin and lightly kicked her foot forward in a kind of pose. “I know my share of tricks.”

“I’m surprised Mr. Bond never tapped you for the League.” Mina sighed and set down the spade. “Perhaps it might have gone better if you had.”

“Mmm …” Irene came out of the pose and straightened her posture. “I don’t know about that. An American working for British Intelligence? Nah. Besides, I’m not sure I trust myself, especially with state secrets.”

Mina shook her head. “You don’t know the type of men I worked with.”

Irene raised an eyebrow. “Really? From what I heard it was mostly ghosts and those unscrupulous enough to believe they could control such monsters.”

Mina sighed softly and pulled the brim of her sunhat down toward her eyebrows. “I suppose that puts me in the latter company, then,” she said as she picked up the spade again.

Mina tried to go back to concentrating on her task, but the sound of the fabric of Irene’s dress sliding against the boulder made her pause. Irene crouched beside her. Mina moved back on her heels and buried her face in hands, trying not to cry, trying to relax as Irene’s gloved hand moved up and down her back.

“Hey,” Irene ventured gently. “I read a lot. I know a lot of well-connected people. From everything I’ve heard, I don’t think you did anything wrong. You saved the world.”

“So many people died,” Mina whispered against her palms.

“The Martians could have killed us all,” Irene said. “There may have been no other way.”

“Perhaps,” Mina uncovered her face and sat back on the ground. Irene moved so she was sitting next to Mina, placed her hand on Mina’s knee through Mina’s gray wool skirt. Mina turned to her and tried to smile as Irene placed her other hand on Mina’s cheek. It occurred to Mina that she should have found the gesture intrusive, especially after the kiss. “It’s funny …”

“What is?”

“You just admitted that you know people who know state secrets, and yet I was just about to tell you my own.”

Irene laughed, she leaned in to kiss Mina on the cheek, then moved her hand away. “I meant what I said about being grateful to you. I’m not always an angel, but you have my loyalty, Mina.”

A vision of Mr. Hyde placing his huge, hairy hand against her breast came to Mina’s mind. There was a time when Mina felt herself purely good, and without compromise, but that was a long time ago. She stroked her throat through her scarf.

“Do you think about him a lot?” Irene asked.

Mina flinched. She closed her eyes. “More than I want to, certainly.” She looked out to the sea when she opened them again, finding it easier not to look at Irene’s eager gaze. “But it’s Lucy who I think about the most.”

“Your lady friend,” Irene nodded. “She must have been special.”

At those words, Mina felt something break inside her. She let out a cry, then another, then broke into sobbing. She tried to control herself as she felt Irene’s arms wrap around her, felt Irene knock off her hat and rest a hand against her hair, but she just couldn’t. She let her tears wet the shoulder of Irene’s dress.

“I abandoned her,” Mina blubbered.

“Oh, you can’t think that way.”

“But I did! I left her to go Jonathan as she was becoming corrupted. I left her for a man who turned from me after my scars appeared,” Mina pushed herself away from Irene and wiped her eyes. “Oh God, I hate him. Lucy and I loved each other better than anyone. I should have honored that.”

Irene sighed. “I see you suffer from this. But you must remember you were in an impossible situation.”

Mina wiped her thumb across her eyes and stood up. She walked over to the boulder and leaned against it on her elbows, staring out at the sea. Irene followed her, stopping when she was directly behind Mina.

“Can you guess why I joined the League?”

Irene studied Mina’s face for a moment, then shrugged. “You were asked and had no other options, is what I heard.”

Mina shook her head. “What I truly wanted to do was prevent what happened to Lucy from happening again, to prevent what happened to me from happening to anyone else.” Mina turned back to Irene. “I once put myself in the hands of a group of honorable men and their protection helped turned me into a monster. So I tried to lead a group of disreputable men who wouldn’t and I ...”

Mina wanted to say more, but didn’t want to begin crying again. Irene took a step closer.

“I miss her,” Mina said.

Irene lifted up Mina’s chin and kissed her. It was the same sort of kiss Irene had given her upon meeting, and yet this time Mina wanted to react to it as she would to a man’s kiss. She felt a tension along her body. Before she thought about why she wanted to, she wrapped her arms around Irene’s waist. In response, one of Irene’s hands moved from her back, around to her chest.

A gong sounded in the distance. The bell for dinner. Mina pulled herself away as Irene broke the kiss. She let her knees dropped into the dirt and scrambled to pick up the spade and bulbs she had collected. “I … I’m sorry,” she mumbled. “I forgot myself.”

Irene crouched beside her and put her hand over Mina’s. “Hey,” Irene said as Mina looked up at her. “We’re on our own here. Even if you decide that’s not what you want, we should be friends. I _want_ to be your friend.”

Mina blushed. Her first instinct was to pull away, to react with anger and think of closing herself off, but she realized that wasn’t what she wanted. They walked down the pass and collected the goats, then walked arm in arm back to the green house.

~*~*~

For some time in the next two weeks, Mina had wondered why she had kissed Irene back. The easiest answer was that she had been emotional. It had been a long time since she had allowed herself to remember Lucy. It was strange, Mina observed, and perhaps a symptom of her earlier loneliness, that Irene had been the one to remind Mina of Lucy. Mina’s dear, departed friend had been meek and gentle, trusting with an open heart.

But Irene … Irene was different. How could one describe her? Despite the accent, Irene was in many ways the perfect lady. She moved with poise, at all points seemed totally, completely in control of herself and her effect on others. With the Sisters of Coradine, she knew exactly what to say to put them at ease, positioning herself as the perfect foreigner, eager and quick to learn. Even when the women, used to the ambient music of their culture, violently balked at Irene’s classically-trained operatic singing, Irene took what must have been something of an insult gracefully.

Yes, Mina thought, Irene was beautiful, talented and fiercely intelligent, and while Lucy had those qualities to certain degrees, Irene had a streak of mischief that was foreign to Lucy, as if Irene were the teacher’s pet and troublemaker at the same time.

For example, it made Mina blush when Irene’s hand would find the way to her lap. Yet again, she found she didn’t want Irene to take it away. It may have embarrassed her to have Irene be so forward as Sister Wintersisle spoke to them, but she and Irene still remained more similar in mind, and that made Mina more comfortable with Irene than even the sweetest of the sisters. Far from civilization, they were unto themselves a country of two.

Her sometimes embarrassment did not go unnoticed, however. During a rare separation two weeks later, Sister Daisy had sat with Mina while they were repairing clothes and asked about it.

“You spend so much time with Sister Irene, and yet sometimes you seem ill at ease,” Daisy said. “Is there something about her that you find disagreeable? Is it her horrible singing?”

Mina only blinked in response at first. With Irene around the women of Coradine’s blunt, guileless manner of speaking seemed to become more pronounced.

“No, quite the opposite,” Mina said finally. “I have a lot of affection for Irene, and I suppose it is so much so that I feel ill at ease with the depth of my affection for her.”

Sister Daisy raised an eyebrow. “But how could one be afraid of affection? There’s no greater virtue in the world than tenderness. Lack of patience and selfishness makes it attractive for the sinful mind to turn from others in anger. When the instinct for love enters our heart, we must turn to it with open arms.”

Mina continued her stitching. It was lovely advice, yet seemed naïve coming from a citizen of a society without romance. Of course, the rose of friendship had thorns as well. “And if this affection hurts others? If it leaves you open to betrayal?”

Sister Daisy started back like she’d been slapped. “Why would you think that way? Even if we’re wronged, we can’t assume we shall always be. We cannot look at every gesture we make with a poor end in mind.”

Mina sighed. “I’ve just come to so many poor ends in recent years,” she said.

Sister Daisy tried to give her words of comfort, but they barely penetrated Mina’s soul. Yet when Irene came back from the fields and entered the green house, any thought Mina had melted away.

~*~*~

A few weeks passed, weeks that were a dream of long talks in which Irene detailed her expeditions since her widowhood from Mr. Norton, from the ruined castles of Camelot to the court intrigues of Angria to the warlike twin islands of Gondal and Gaaldine. Then it was time for the ceremony of the moon to commence once again.

On the days approaching, Mina had explained in detail to Irene the features of the beautiful ritual, and Irene had listened with interest, but on the day before the moon had become completely full, her companion no longer seemed to care. The two of them had been assigned to tending to the hives for the day, and while the buzzing of the bees had made conversation difficult, Irene did not try to start a discussion and was slow to answer questions. As the day ended and the other sisters had already left the hives, Irene finally broached a conversation with Mina.

“Let’s not watch the ritual,” Irene whispered.

Mina froze, blankly staring at a bright, fuzzy bee that was crawling across Irene’s veil. “You mean --?”

“You know they don’t understand how we operate. It’ll upset them. We’ll go off by ourselves and up into the mountains as soon as the dance begins.”

Mina wanted to respond, but Sister Elm called back to them, and they knew they had to leave. During supper, Mina could barely eat for anxiety. She felt foolish for it. She was, after all, a very brave woman. Yet it was not herself for whom Mina was afraid.

It was strange. When she made her feelings known to Allan, she had been so bold, tossing away her clothes despite possible rejection and, in the case of the scars around her neck, even disgust. Yet she had come to Coradine in a state of vulnerability, and even though she had felt her own confidence and drive return through Irene, thinking of Allan made it more difficult to take what she wanted so brazenly as before.

Mina returned to her room and dressed in a gray and white gown, worrying slightly over the cleanliness of her face and the position of her scarf before she made her way to the main hall for the ceremony. The little girls in the colony, who did not take place in the ceremony, were already seated, so Mina tried to find a place to sit at the back of the room. When she got there, she felt a strong hand grip on her upper arm. When she turned, she gasped.

That it had been Irene behind her was not surprising. What was surprising was that she was dressed in the most exquisite suit: black with a silk patterned vest, tailored and yet masculine. Her long blonde hair was covered in what must have been a short wig, and she wore a top hat above that. She would look the perfect image of a gentlemen but for her face, which she had made up with lipstick and rouge.

“Irene. You’re … you’re stunning,” Mina said.

Irene smiled, white teeth showing. A hush fell over the little girls, and the vibrating sound of the brass globes that made their music began to play from the opposite end of the hall. Soon the first dancer would come out, followed by more and more until their svelte, silver forms came to represent the full moon, and then the dancers would all leave once again to represent its waning.

“Come with me,” Irene whispered.

A warm feeling grew in Mina’s stomach as she followed Irene up the cliff of the nearest mountain. Irene tried to take her hand, but Mina refused. (“I don’t like to be coddled when you’re wearing an outfit like that.”) They came to a decent-sized ridge, out of sight of any members of the house but close enough that they could hear the music.

“I’d hoped we’d be far enough away from that noise,” Irene sighed. “I was polite enough to them, but to think some keening high notes are more beautiful than ‘Il Muto’? Nonsense.”

Mina tried to respond saying she had enjoyed the tones of the music, but Irene suddenly took her by the waist. Mina moaned into Irene’s kiss, letting her hands roam beneath Irene’s jacket and along that lovely silk vest. Then she remembered herself and pulled away.

“What is it?” Irene asked.

“It’s … Oh, I don’t know,” Mina moaned. “It’s just … I’m in love with someone.”

Irene stared at her for a moment. “I see …”

“But I feel as if I need this, as if I don’t wish to be anywhere else,” Mina said, eagerly clasping Irene’s hands.

“This … this man you love. Are you engaged? Does he expect your fidelity?”

“I … I don’t know. He’s been married twice before. I told him I needed my own time. I think he would forgive me. Yet it feels wrong.”

“I don’t want to pressure you,” Irene said, resting her hands along Mina’s waist. “But I don’t think you should worry that it feels wrong. I’m an experienced adventuress. You are divorced and largely discarded by the world …”

Mina sighed. This sounded all so familiar. So she did what was familiar then and began to unbutton the collar of her dress.

Irene’s hands gripped Mina, pulled her closer. Irene’s sweet perfume hit Mina’s nostrils and as Irene’s warm, wet mouth met hers, sensation overwhelmed her. The music of the house filled Mina’s ears, and for the first time in months, Mina felt bold once again. She gripped onto Irene’s shoulders with her nails, reached around her hips with one of her legs, then tried to jump as she raised the other.

“Oh!” Irene stepped back suddenly, almost buckling under the sudden weight. “I may be as smart as the late great detective, but I’m not as strong!”

Mina flushed with embarrassment. “Sorry.”

Irene slipped off her jacket. The light of the moon seemed to make the white of the shirt glow in the dark. “It’s all right. If you get back against the mountain, I should be able to pick you up.”

Mina complied. Irene stepped forward and opened the front of Mina’s dress.

“Let’s get this off,” Irene purred.

The dress fell to Mina’s feet in a giant lump along with her petticoats, leaving her in her chemise, corset and drawers. The cool night air felt wonderful against Mina’s shoulders. Even with her hat, scarf and boots on, she felt nearly naked.

Irene kicked the clothing away and pressed herself against Mina. Mina clasped her legs around Irene’s waist, pinned between Irene’s warm body and the solid earth. She was wet, and was sure Irene could feel how wet she was through her thin drawers, was sure that she would be staining Irene’s trousers soon. 

Irene reached for Mina’s scarf. Mina grasped her hand.

“No,” Mina said. “Not that. Please.”

Irene seemed a bit disappointed, but nodded. Her leather-gloved hands reached inside Mina’s chemise and pulled it down under her breasts. Irene then bent down and clasped her lips against Mina’s left nipple, sucking it firmly. Mina squeezed her eyes shut. The music was slightly higher now. Combined with the sensations of Irene’s wet mouth, the cool night air and the dirt beneath Mina’s hands as she gripped onto the mountain in back of her, it all made her feel like she was under the influence of some wonderful drug.

Then Irene pulled herself away, gently moved Mina’s legs from around her waist and crouched to the ground. Mina gasped as Irene pulled down her drawers, then clasped her mouth to her sex. Mina moaned so loudly she thought she could hear herself echo in the mountains. A sudden feeling of vulnerability froze her, but it was soon lost as Irene pushed her tongue deep inside her, pushing in and out only to stop and lick at her clitoris before entering her again.

It all felt so intense to Mina that she couldn’t think anymore but for screaming. She had always been loud during sex, and Irene’s tongue felt so good Mina wouldn’t be surprised if she lost her voice before she had her orgasm. Mina moved her hands to her own breasts, trying to get herself there on her own.

Instead, Irene stood up and kissed Mina, her mouth still damp and salty from Mina’s pussy. When she stopped, Mina marveled at the streaks of smudged lipstick around Irene’s mouth. The suit had been incredibly alluring – it reminded her of a time when she was young and only beardless young men appealed to her, but Mina suddenly wanted Irene to look more feminine. She pulled off Irene’s hat and wig, letting Irene’s blonde hair cascade around her shoulders before kissing her again.

“Mina,” Irene breathed as they broke their kiss. “God, Mina. I’m so happy you said yes. You’re so beautiful.”

“Oh no. You’re the beautiful one,” Mina said, running her fingers through Irene’s hair. “Your hair’s so long and blonde.” It was like Lucy’s, Mina realized.

Irene gently kissed Mina’s ear. “I have something I can fuck you with. Will you let me?”

Mina was confused for a moment, but she was far from innocent, and she soon realized what Irene was talking about. That _would_ be wonderful. She may have been less averse allowing a woman to make love to her than she would have ever imagined, but part of her body still screamed for penetration. “Of course.”

It was ingenious but she’d actually been keeping the dildo inside of her trousers, not in its proper place but hanging by its loops from her belt, sort of like a policeman’s stick. Irene pushed off her trousers completely, stepping out of them so she was only wearing black shoes, socks and spats beneath her waist. As she buckled the object around her, Mina pulled off her drawers completely.

Irene entered her slowly. Mina was slick and wet, but it took her body some time to adjust to the intrusion. She had once wondered why Sapphists would care for a false penis if they scorned the real thing, but the truth was the dildo didn’t really feel like one. It didn’t have the warmth of a real cock but it was also firmer, more unforgiving. As Irene moved it slowly in and out of her, it felt very hard and slightly painful, but Mina liked pain. 

Mina started to moan again, and Irene took that as a cue to change course and fuck her fiercely. At first she wanted to tell Irene to stop. The hard clay was battering the inside of her, and it felt like too much all at once until Irene hit something that caused a jolt of pleasure so good Mina almost lost sense of herself. 

It was unlike anything she had felt before. Mina wasn’t so much coming as riding many small waves of pleasure, not intense in themselves but all leading up to a haze of need and eagerness to be penetrated again and again.

Then something broke through her reverie. It was the music, more intense than ever before. Mina suddenly had a vision of what they must look like: entwined together and bare-legged, the moonlight shining down upon them in the mountains, Mina in nothing but her corset and chemise, Irene in nothing but her men’s shirt and vest.

“Harder,” Mina cried. “Oh God. Please. Please Irene, fuck me harder!”

She might have been still screaming when the orgasm broke over her, all she could really tell was that right before the crash, the music had stopped.

~*~*~

“‘Throw this smelly little lesbian over the side.’”

Irene glanced up at Mina, smoke trailing from her mouth as she removed her cigarette. She was sitting bare-legged and bare-bottomed on her trousers while Mina sat on a nearby rock, her drawers back on, Irene’s coat draped over her shoulders, and a cigarette of her own in her hand. Mina had thought they should return the house since the ceremony had ended, but the two of them had felt tired and raw and Irene had the case of cigarettes in her jacket pocket. Besides, if they were going to be caught, it would have already happened.

“What did you say?” Irene asked.

“That’s what Professor Moriarty said to me when he first saw me. I suppose it’s funny.”

Irene snorted, smoke blowing out her nose like a blonde bull. “He was a fucking creeper. What’s the point of being that smart if you’re just going to be a low-minded creeper?” Irene took another drag, blew it out, and seemed to think for a minute. “Although I suppose Mr. Holmes had his rude moments.”

“He didn’t much like Allan Quatermain, if what Moriarty says is true,” Mina said.

“Did he?” Irene asked, surprised. Then she shrugged. “Well, even if Moriarty wasn’t lying, I think even Dr. Watson would call that the addiction denial talking. It’s easier to think yourself in control while looking at another man whose control is worse. I wouldn’t be offended on your beau’s behalf for that.”

Mina flinched. Irene just narrowed her eyes when she saw her surprise.

“How did you …?”

“ … know it was him?” Irene finished. “You told me the names of your four teammates. Two of them are dead and Captain Nemo has only one dead wife. It’s not a very difficult deduction.”

Mina slumped her shoulders and frowned. She wasn’t sure if she was angrier at Irene or herself.

“Oh, come on, pet. Don’t be that way.” Irene stood up and walked over to Mina, but Mina turned her head angrily, unable to look at her. Embarrassment burned in her stomach. Irene laid a hand on her knee, shook it gently, but Mina remained unmoved.

“Is it really so different now that I know?” Irene asked.

“No,” Mina said, her head still turned away. “But I didn’t try to pry into your affairs regarding Mr. Holmes.”

Mina could feel Irene tense up through her hand. Irene removed it and when Mina looked back at her, Irene stood very stiffly in front of her.

“There’s not much to tell,” Irene said. There was defensiveness in her tone that she hadn’t quite hid.

“Really? Didn’t you first kiss me because I killed Moriarty?” Mina asked. “Mr. Holmes obviously means something to you.”

“Is it wrong for me to thank you?”

“It’s a rather unconventional way of thanks.”

“Well, I _am_ unconventional!” Irene said hotly.

Mina had no response. Irene walked back to where she had been sitting before, although she had lost her desire for the cigarette, stubbed it out on a stone as she looked at the moon. Mina sighed. She supposed they’d both properly ruined a lovely time now. She was about to suggest they return to the house when Irene pulled her knees against herself.

“Sometimes,” Irene said darkly. “I have a good mind to punch Dr. Watson in the face if I were to ever see him.”

Mina’s eyes widened. Could Irene be referring to jealousy? Of course, the idea that Sherlock Holmes and Dr. Watson shared a special affection wasn’t unheard of …

“I only met Sherlock Holmes twice, and for barely more than a few hours,” Irene continued. “Yet people assume I’m his great love: the woman who beat him. Did I admire him? Of course. Was I upset, even heartbroken when he died? Terribly. If you’d asked me if I felt every single thing for Sherlock Holmes as Dr. Watson described he felt for me, I would tell you wholeheartedly that yes, I did.”

Irene sniffled suddenly, wiped her eyes on the back of her palms. Mina tried to tell her she was sorry, but Irene held up her hand.

“But how do you follow an act like that?” Irene asked. “‘The woman who beat the world’s greatest detective.’ She beat him through a switcheroo, leaving nothing behind but a picture and a whisper in the night. How does one conceive of an act like that? How does one follow an act like that? And yet I did it, and thanks to Dr. Watson everyone knows it. And that’s all they’ll ever know. My whole life defined for me, just like that.”

There was a streak of regret through Irene’s words that stirred Mina’s heart. “I see. I think I understand. Sometimes people see me as a ruined victim, and it’s hard to overcome that, but it’s possible.”

Irene shook her head. “It’s not quite the same. You started low, although not quite as low as many people say – I always thought you were very brave. But your reputation can only get better. And your story came to the kitchen tables of England through your diaries. For me, it was only one letter. Everyone knows who you are, but I will always be an idea. I will always be the woman who beat the smartest man in the world, and such an idea is great enough to eclipse everything else I am, reflecting back in others what they wish to see in me, what they wish to see in the woman who beat the smartest man in the world. You will always be a woman, but I will always be a mirror.”

Mina slid off the rock. Irene had scrunched up even further, her head buried in her knees. Mina stroked her hair, then lifted up Irene’s chin. She was crying.

“Not to me,” Mina said, and she kissed Irene, wiping away the tears from her eyes.

~*~*~

Sister Wintersisle had suspected something when they returned, and while nothing was ever explicitly said, the situation became much more tenable when Irene decided to leave.

“Travel,” Irene said to Mina, their hands tightly entwined together and tears in their eyes. “You’re outside of society. You owe it nothing. See the world.”

Allan wrote to her a few days later begging to visit, and by that time Mina was eager to leave.

She told Allan about Irene a few months later. He tried to understand, but was clearly hurt. It was only when they met Orlando that Allan truly began to forgive.

Years after their first round of travels, Mina and Allan met the world’s greatest detective, who turned out to be alive after all. When they first met, first shook hands, Sherlock Holmes bent to Mina’s ear and whispered, “Thank you for loving her.”

The End.


	2. A Scandal in Coradine: Notes

Much like reading the original comic, writing a _League of Extraordinary Gentlemen_ story tends to instill in oneself flights of pretension, as if you’re suddenly a genius because you looked up “List of Fictional Operas” on Wikipedia. Author’s notes that don’t have references to how much sugar you ate or beer you drank while writing the fanfic are similarly pretentious, but I figure in the fanfic tradition of crediting your sources, I should write where most of this stuff came from.

Coradine is from the William Henry Hudson novel, _A Crystal Age_ , although the novel frustratingly (to me at least, when I read it in preparation for this story) talks about an entirely different, co-ed pastoral utopia. Here’s how he describes Coradine in his book:

_“Thus, at the beginning of our journey to the far south, where we go to look first on those bright lands, which have hotter suns and a greater variety than ours, we come to the wilderness of Coradine, which seems barren and desolate to our sight, accustomed to the deep verdure of woods and valleys, and the blue mists of an abundant moisture. There a stony soil brings forth only thorns, and thistles, and sere tufts of grass; and blustering winds rush over the unsheltered reaches, where the rough-haired goats huddle for warmth; and there is no melody save the many-toned voices of the wind and the plover's wild cry. There dwell the children of Coradine, on the threshold of the wind-vexed wilderness, where the stupendous columns of green glass uphold the roof of the House of Coradine; the ocean's voice is in their rooms, and the inland-blowing wind brings to them the salt spray and yellow sand swept at low tide from the desolate floors of the sea, and the white-winged bird flying from the black tempest screams aloud in their shadowy halls. There, from the high terraces, when the moon is at its full, we see the children of Coradine gathered together, arrayed like no others, in shining garments of gossamer threads, when, like thistle-down chased by eddying winds, now whirling in a cloud, now scattering far apart, they dance their moonlight dances on the wide alabaster floors; and coming and going they pass away, and seem to melt into the moonlight, yet ever to return again with changeful melody and new measures. And, seeing this, all those things in which we ourselves excel seem poor in comparison, becoming pale in our memories. For the winds and waves, and the whiteness and grace, has been ever with them; and the winged seed of the thistle, and the flight of the gull, and the storm-vexed sea, flowering in foam, and the light of the moon on sea and barren land, have taught them this art, and a swiftness and grace which they alone possess._

This lovely image seems to have not penetrated in any way to Alan Moore and Kevin O’Neill’s Comic books, which depict a matriarchal society that perhaps burns rapists in wicker and doesn’t care much for men. Also, despite the references to “far south” it’s in Scotland. In portraying Coradine, I tried to integrate these two visions into a cohesive society.

A lot of their customs were also based on the customs of the main (unnamed, I believe) utopia in _A Crystal Age_ , which canonically knew of each other and visited each other. Like that utopia, my Coradine is pastoral and self-sufficient, its inhabitants are unfamiliar with the concept of romantic love, they listen to the same type of music, all live regimented lives in one house and the society is centered around a central mother-figure. I would have incorporated similar clothing, but that didn’t seem to match Kevin O’Neill’s drawings which mostly had them in black robes. I also didn’t mention the boobtacular totems seen on Mina’s postcard to Allan, but we can assume that they’re just for wicker rapist burning and the women of Coradine had no need to do that in this story. Jess Nevins’ annotations also suggested Moore’s Coradine could be influenced by _The Wicker Man_ movie remake. It seems a little unlikely, but I stole the naming conventions from the movie (Sister Summersisle becomes Sister Wintersisle, for example, and Sister Daisy is named after plants/flowers like the women in the film), as well as the beekeeping.

I’ll assume a basic familiarity with the main storyline/characters of Dracula and Sherlock Holmes for many of the characters not mentioned in the original comics. Irene Adler has no description in “A Scandal in Bohemia,” and the expansion of her personality is, like most adaptations, largely my interpretation. Her look was based on the look of Lillie Langtry, Irene’s possible real-life inspiration, although I made her blonde to differentiate from brunette Mina. The lily is also a tribute to Langtry, who was known as the “Jersey Lily.”

I don’t think I made too many references in this story beyond what the original comics made. In terms of the few that are new to me, the ruins of Camelot are a pretty self-explanatory reference to the King Arthur stories. Angria is the land Charlotte and Branwell Bronte made up in their childhood, and Gondal/Gaaldine were created by their sisters Emily and Anne. Thank you to my friend Sandoz_iscariot for suggesting them.

And, finally, thanks to Wikipedia, “Il Muto” is a fictional opera featured in _The Phantom of the Opera_.


End file.
